Arthur O'Leary Part 51

Some thoughts like these suggested a visit to the Wartburg, the scene of Luther's captivity--for such, although devised with friendly intent, his residence there was; and so abandoning the Brocken, for the "nonce," I started for Eisenach.

As you approach the town of Eisenach--for I'm not going to weary you with the whole road,--you come upon a little glen in the forest, the "Thuringer Wald," where the road is completely overshadowed, and even at noonday, is almost like night. A little well, bubbling in a basin of rock, stands at the road-side, where an iron ladle, chained to the stone, and a rude bench, proclaim that so much of thought has been bestowed on the wayfarer. As you rest from the heat and fatigue of the day, upon that humble seat, you may not know that Martin Luther himself sat on that very bench, tired and wayworn, as he came back from Worms, where, braving the power of king and kaiser, he had gone manfully to defend his opinions, and a.s.sert the doctrines of the Reformation.

It was there he lay down to sleep--a sleep I would dare to say; not the less tranquil, because the excommunication of Rome had been fulminated over his head. He was alone. He had refused every offer of companions.h.i.+p, which zeal for the cause and personal friends.h.i.+p had prompted, when suddenly he was aroused by the tramp of armed men, and the heavy clattering of horses, coming up the glen. He knew his life was sought for by his enemies, and what a grateful deed his a.s.sa.s.sination would be to record within the halls of many a kingly palace.. In an instant, he was on his legs, and grasping his trusty broad-sword, he awaited the attack. Not too soon, however, for scarcely had the hors.e.m.e.n come within sight, than, putting spurs to their steeds, they bore down upon him; then checking their horses suddenly, the leader called aloud to him, to surrender himself his prisoner.

Good Martin's reply was a stroke of his broad-sword that brought the summoner from his saddle to the ground. Parley was at an end now, and they rushed on him at once. Still, it was clear that their wish was not to kill him, which from their numbers and superior equipment, could not have been difficult. But Luther's love of liberty was as great as his love of life, and he laid about him like one who would sell either as dearly as he could. At length, pressed by his enemies on every side, his sword broke near the hut, he threw the useless fragment from his hand, and called out, "Ich kann nicht mehr!"--"I can do no more!"

He was now bound with cords, and his eyes bandaged, conveyed to the castle of the Wartburg, about two miles distant, nor did he know for several days after, that the whole was a device of his friend and protector, the Elector of Saxony, who wished to give currency to the story, that Luther's capture was a real one, and the Wartburg his prison, and not, as it really proved, his asylum. Here he spent nearly a year, occupied in the translation of the Bible, and occasionally preaching in the small chapel of the "Schloss." His strange fancies of combats with the evil one, are among the traditions of, the place, and the torn plaster of the wall is pointed out as the spot where he hurled his inkstand at the fiend, who tormented him in the shape of a large blue-bottle fly.

One cannot see, unmoved, that rude chamber, with its simple furniture of ma.s.sive oak, where the great monk meditated those tremendous truths that were to shake thrones and dynasties, and awake the world from the charmed sleep of superst.i.tion, in which, for centuries, it lay buried.

The force of his strong nature, his enthusiasm, and a kind of savage energy he possessed, frequently overbalanced his reason, and he gave way to wild rantings and ravings, which often followed on the longest efforts of his mental labour, and seemed like the outpourings of an overcharged intellect. The zeal with which he prosecuted his great task, was something almost miraculous--often for thirty, or even forty, hours, did he remain at the desk without food or rest, and then such was his exhaustion, bodily as well as mental, that he would fall senseless on the floor, and it required all the exertions of those about him to rally him from these attacks. His first sensations on recovering, were ever those of a deadly struggle with the evil one, by whose agency alone he believed his great work was interrupted, ana then the scene which succeeded would display all the fearful workings of his diseased imagination. From these paroxysms, nothing seemed to awake him so readily, as the presence of his friend Melancthon, whose mild nature and angelic temperament were the exact opposites of his bold, impetuous character. The sound of his voice alone would frequently calm him in his wildest moments, and when the torrent of his thought ran onward with mad speed, and shapes and images flitted before his disordered brain, and earthly combats were mingled in his mind with more dreadful conflicts, and that he burst forth into the violent excesses of his pa.s.sion--then, the soft breathings of Melancthon's flute, would still the storm, and lay the troubled waters of his soul--that rugged nature would yield even to tears, and like a child, he would weep till slumber closed his eyes.

I lingered the entire day in the Wartburg--sometimes in the Rittersaal, where suits of ancient and most curious armour are preserved; sometimes in the chapel, where the rude desk is shown at which Luther lectured to the household of the "Schloss." Here, too, is a portrait of him, which is alleged to be authentic. The features are such as we see in all his pictures; the only difference I could perceive, was, that he is represented with a moustache, which gives, what a Frenchman near me called an "air brigand" to the stern ma.s.siveness of his features. This circ.u.mstance, slight as it is, rather corroborates the authenticity of the painting, for it is well known that during his residence at the Wartburg, he wore his beard in this fas.h.i.+on, and to many retainers of the castle, pa.s.sed for a Ritter, or a knight confined for some crime against the state.

With a farewell look at the old chamber, where stands his oaken chair and table, I left the Schloss, and as night was falling descended towards Eisenach--for a description of whose water-mills and windmills--Whose cloth factories and toy shops, I refer you to various and several guide books--only begging to say, on my own account, that the "Reuten Kranta" is a seemly inn, and the host a pleasant German of the old school; that is, in other words, one whose present life is always about twenty years in advance of his thoughts, and who, while he eats and drinks in the now century, thinks and feels with that which is gone. The latest event of which he had any cognizance, was the retreat from Leipsic, when the French poured through the village for five days without ceasing. All the great features of that memorable retreat, however, were absorbed in his mind, by an incident which occurred to himself, and at which, by the gravity of his manner in relating it, I could not help laughing heartily.

When the commissariat arrived at Eisenach, to make arrangement for the troops on their mardi, they allowed the inhabitants the option--a pleasant one--of converting the billets, imposed upon them, for a certain sum of money, in virtue of which, they obtained an exemption from all intrusion on the part of men and officers, save those of the rank of colonel and upwards; and in evidence, a great placard was affixed to their door, setting forth the same, as a "general order," Now as it was agreed that only one officer should be accommodated at a time, the privilege was worth paying for, particularly by our host of the "Rue Garland," whose larder was always stored with delicacies, and whose cellar was famed for thirty miles round. He accordingly counted down his reichs-thalers, gulden, and groschen--with a heavy heart it is true, but to avert a heavier evil, and with his grand patent of immunity, hung out upon his sign post, he gave himself no farther trouble about the war or its chances. On the third evening of the retreat, however, a regiment of the Cha.s.seurs de la Garde, conspicuous by their green coats and white facings, the invariable costume of the Emperor himself, entered the town, and bivouacked in the little square. The colonel, a handsome fellow of about five-and-thirty, or forty, looked about him sharply for a moment or two, irresolute where he should fix his resting-place; when a savoury odour of sausages frying in the "Reuten Krantz," quickly decided his choice. He entered at once, and making his bow to mine host, with that admirable mixture of deference and command a Frenchman can always a.s.sume, ordered his dinner to be got ready, and a bed prepared for him.

It was well worth the host's while to stand on good terms with the officers of rank, who could repress, or wink, at the liberties of the men, as occasion served, and so the "Rue Garland" did its utmost that day to surpa.s.s itself.

"Je dois vous prevenir," said the colonel, laughing as he strolled from the door, after giving his directions, "Je dois vous prevenir, que je mange bien, et beaucoup."

"Monsieur shall be content," said the host, with a tap on his own stomach, as though to say,--"The nourishment that has sufficed for this, may well content such a carca.s.s as thine--"

"And as for wine--continued the colonel.

"Zum kissen!" cried the host, with a smack of his lips, that could be heard over the whole Platz, and which made a poor captain's mouth water, who guessed the allusion.

I shall not detail for my reader, though I most certainly heard myself the long bill of fare, by which the Rue Branch intended to astonish the weak nerves of the Frenchman, little suspecting, at the time, how mutual the surprise was destined to be. I remember there was "fleisch" and "braten" without end, and baked pike, and sausages, and boar's head, and eels, and potted mackerel, and brawn, and partridges; not to speak of all the roots that ever gave indigestion since the flood, besides sweatmeats and puddings, for whose genera and species it would take Buffon and Cuvier to invent a cla.s.sification. As I heard the formidable enumeration, I could not help expressing my surprise at the extent of preparations, so manifestly disproportionate to the amount of the company; but the host soon satisfied me on this head, by saying, "that they were obliged to have an immense supply of cold viands always ready to sell to the other officers throughout the town, whom," he added in a sly whisper, "they soon contrived to make pay for the heavy ransom imposed on themselves." The display, therefore, which did such credit to his hospitality, was made with little prospect of injuring his pocket--a pleasant secret, if it only were practicable.

The hour of dinner arrived at last, and the Colonel, punctual to the moment, entered the salon, which looked out by a window on the Platz--a strange contrast, to be sure, for his eyes; the great side-board loaded with luscious fare, and covered by an atmosphere of savoury smoke; and the meagre bivouack without, where groups of officers sat, eating their simple rations, and pa.s.sing their goblets of washy beer from hand to hand.

Rouchefoucauld says, "There is always something pleasant in the misfortunes of our best friends;" and as I suppose he knew his countrymen, I conclude that the Colonel arranged his napkin on his knee with a high sense of enjoyment for the little panorama which met his eyes on the Platz.

It must certainly have been a goodly sight, and somewhat of a surprise besides, for an old campaigner to see the table groaning under its display of good things; amid which, like Lombardy poplars in a Flemish landscape, the tall and taper necks of various flasks shot up--some frosted with an icy crest, some cobwebbed with the touch of time.

Ladling the potage from a great silver tureen of antique mould, the host stood beside the Colonel's chair, enjoying--as only a host can enjoy--the mingled delight and admiration of his guest; and now the work began in right earnest. What an admirable soup, and what a gla.s.s of "Niederthaler"--no hock was ever like it; and those pates--they were "en bechamelle." "He was sorry they were not oysters, but the Chablis, he could vouch for." And well he might; such a gla.s.s of wine might console the Emperor for Leipsic.

"How did you say the trout was fried, my friend?"

"In mushroom gravy, dashed with anchovy."

"Another slice, if you'll permit me," pop! "That flask has burst its bonds in time; I was wis.h.i.+ng to taste your 'OEil de Perdrix.'"

The outposts were driven in by this time, and the heavy guns of the engagement were brought down; in other words, the braten, a goodly dish of veal, garnished with every incongruity the mind of man could muster, entered; which, while the host carved at the side-board, the Colonel devoured in his imagination, comforting himself the while by a salmi of partridges with truffles.

Some invaluable condiment had, however, been forgotten with the veal, and the host bustled out of the room in search of it. The door had not well closed, when the Colonel dashed out a goblet of Champagne, and drank it at a draught; then, springing from the window into the Platz, where already the shadow of evening was falling, was immediately replaced by the Major, whose dress and general appearance were sufficiently like his own to deceive any stranger.

Helping himself without loss of time to the salmi, he ate away, like one whose appet.i.te had suffered a sore trial from suspense.

The salmi gave place to the veal, and the veal to the baked pike; for so it is, the stomach, in Germany, is a kind of human ark, wherein, though there is little order in the procession, the animals enter whole and entire. The host watched his guest's performance, and was in ecstasies--good things never did meet with more perfect appreciation; and as for the wine, he drank it like a Swabian, whole goblets full at a draught. At length, holding up an empty flask, he cried out "Champagne!"

And away trotted the fat man to his cellar, rather surprised, it is true, how rapidly three flasks of his "A Mousseux" had disappeared.

This was now the critical moment, and with a half-sigh of regret, the Major leaped into the street, and the first Captain relieved the guard.

Poor fellow, he was fearfully hungry, and helped himself to the first dish before him, and drank from the bottle at his side, like one whose stomach had long ceased to be pampered by delicacies.

"Du Heiliger!" cried the host to himself, as he stood behind his chair, and surveyed the performance. "Du Heiliger! how he does eat, one wouldn't suppose he had been at it these fifty minutes; art ready for the capon now?" continued he, as he removed the keel and floor timbers of a saddle of mutton.

"The capon," sighed the other; "Yes, the capon, now." Alas! he knew that delicious dish was reserved for his successor. And so it was; before the host re-entered, the second Captain had filled his gla.s.s twice, and was anxiously sitting in expectation of the capon.

Such a bird as it was!--a very sarcophagus of truffles--a mine of delicious dainties of every clime and cuisine.

"Good--eh?"

"Delicious!" said the second Captain, filling a b.u.mper, and handing it to the host, while he clinked his own against it in friendly guise.

"A pleasant fellow, truly," said the host, "and a social--but, Lord, how he eats! There go the wings and the back! Himmel und Erde! if he isn't at the pasty now!"

"Wine!" cried the Frenchman, striking the table with the empty bottle, "Wine."

The host crossed himself, and went out in search of more liquor, muttering as he shuffled along, "What would have become of me, if I hadn't paid the indemnity!"

The third Captain was at his post before the host got back, and whatever the performance of his predecessors, it was nothing to his. The pasty disappeared like magic, the fricandeau seemed to have melted away like snow before the sun; while he drank, indiscriminately, Hock, Hermitage, and Bordeaux, as though he were a camel, victualling himself for a three weeks' tramp in the desert.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 372]

The poor host now walked round the board, and surveyed the "debris" of the feast, with a sad heart. Of all the joints which he hoped to have seen cold on the shelves of his larder, some ruined fragments alone remained. Here was the gable end of a turkey--there, the side wall of a sirloin; on one side, the broken roof of a pasty; on the other, the bare joists of a rib of beef. It was the Palmyra of things eatable, and a sad and melancholy sight to gaze on.

"What comes next, good host?" cried the third Captain, as he wiped his lips with his napkin.

"Next!" cried the host, in horror, "Hagel und regen! thou canst not eat more, surely!"

"I don't know that," replied the other, "the air of these mountains freshens the appet.i.te--I might pick a little of something sweet."

With a groan of misery, the poor host placed a plum pie before the all-devouring stranger, and then, as if to see that no legerdemain was practised, stationed himself directly in front, and watched every morsel, as he put it into his mouth. No, the thing was all fair, he ate like any one else, grinding his food and smacking his lips, like an ordinary mortal. The host looked down on the floor, and beneath the cloth of the table--what was that for? Did he suspect the stranger had a tail?

"A gla.s.s of mulled claret with cloves!" said the frenchman, "and then you may bring the dessert."

"The Heavens be praised!" cried the host as he swept the last fragments of the table into a wide tray, and left the room.

"Egad! I thought you had forgotten me altogether, Captain," said a stout, fat fellow, as he squeezed himself with difficulty through the window, and took his seat at the table. This was the Quarter-master of the Regiment, and celebrated for his appet.i.te throughout the whole brigade.

"Ach Gott! how he is swelled out!" was the first exclamation of the host, as he re-entered the room; "and no wonder either, when one thinks of what he has eaten."

"How now, what's this?" shouted the Quarter-master, as he saw the dessert arranging on the table, "Sacre tonnerre! what's all this?"

"The dessert--if you can eat it," said the host, with a deep sigh.